


Fun's For Free

by stormtrprinstilettos



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-08-14 11:51:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20191825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormtrprinstilettos/pseuds/stormtrprinstilettos
Summary: It’s 1978 and you’re assigned to follow Queen on their North American tour to promote their new album. Only problem is the magazine you write for has not been kind to the band in the past, and someone has a hard time letting go of that fact.





	1. Chapter 1

You’re starting to get impatient, tapping your fingers on the conference room table, listening to everyone else discuss their story proposals they’re throwing out to the editor, Mike, before he doles out the new assignments for the month. Working for a music magazine was your dream job, but you quickly realized that it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. At least for you. You were always assigned the stories no one else wanted to touch – one of the “benefits” to being at the bottom of the proverbial totem pole. You almost felt like you were being taunted every month when you had to sit in on these staff meetings because you knew you’d never get assigned anything you actually wanted to do. Sure, every now and then you’d get a good one, but those were few and far between.

“Y/N,” Mike calls out. “I have a big one for you.” You start to groan inside, trying to figure out what ridiculous venture he was going to send you on this time. He walks behind you and puts his hands on your shoulders, something he always did before giving you bad news. “How does two months away from my bullshit sound?”

You turn and glare at him, dreading what he was going to tell you. “Jesus, Mike, if you want to get rid of me…”

He starts to howl in his laughter. “Never,” he says as he pats one hand on your shoulder. “Why do you always think the worst?”

“Because you always give me the worst,” you chuckle. “So what is it? Sending me to a war zone this time? Clearly it’s something nobody else wants to touch.”

“Well, it does have the potential to be one,” you hear Candice, the assistant editor laugh from across the room.

You glare at Mike with a profound sense of worry and see he’s still laughing. “Oh, it won’t be that bad.” After dismissing everyone else and clearing the room, he sits next to you and gives you a cheesy smile, which only makes your concern grow more. “Calm down. I’m not sending you to Guatemala.”

“Just spit it out, Mike,” you groan as you drop your head into your hands, anticipating the dread he was about to bestow on you.

“England. You have your passport, right?” His stupid smile never left his face, and you start to glare.

“Two months in England?” you ask suspiciously. It sounded almost too good to be true. “What’s the catch?”

“No, just a week in England,” he informs you. “You’re going on a tour.”

“A tour of what?”

“Not a tour of anything. You’re going _on_ tour. You’re writing about a certain big name rock group on their North American tour.”

Your mind starts to race as you look at his cheesy grin, trying to remember what bands are going to be touring here soon, then your mouth drops with dread. “No, Mike. You can’t do this to me.”

“A dream come true, yeah?” he snickers.

“No!” you yell. “After the reviews Barry gave them? Are you fucking kidding me? Send Barry!”

“Barry turned it down,” Candice says. “So did…”

“It doesn’t matter,” Mike interrupts and turns back to you. “I think you’d be perfect for it.”

“Why? Because you’re some sadist who gets off knowing you’re throwing me to a pack of wolves?” You keep trying to protest, but he just sits there with that stupid smile you want to slap right off of him. “How much do you think we’re even going to get out of them? This magazine has been brutal to them.”

“That’s why I want you to go,” he tells you. “Because I think you hate us more than they do.”

“This is going to be a disaster,” you mumble. “But, fine, I’ll do it. I have no choice. I need to pay rent.”

“Great!” Candice exclaims. “You leave in three days. I’ll have your plane ticket for you tomorrow.”

“When is this ‘journalist’ supposed to get here?” Roger grumbles. “I don’t want to be here.”

“You’ll have to face him at some point,” John chuffs. “He’ll be with us the whole tour.”

“_She_,” Miami corrects. “They’re sending a girl. Y/N something. I never heard of her before”

“Perfect. They can’t even send someone who knows what they’re doing,” Roger groans. “Not that I expect anything less from a magazine that said Genesis was better than us. Fucking Genesis. ‘More listenable and far superior’ is what they said.”

Freddie starts laughing loudly. “You take things too personally. When have any critics liked us?”

“I believe they once called you a Robert Plant knock off, Fred,” Roger reminds him.

Freddie’s laughter just gets louder. “I’ll knock off Robert Plant any day as long as I keep getting the money I do.”

“You can all play nice with whoever _she_ is but I intend to…” Roger is cut off before he can finish.

“If she’s pretty we all know what you intend to do,” John quips.

“Oh fuck off,” Roger groans as he walks away, but not without continuing to yell. “Fascists! They called us a fascist rock band! That was this week!” He keeps yelling but no one is paying him attention anymore.

You’re standing in the doorway, hearing all of this going on, feeling like you’ve just witnessed your death. There is no way you can muster the strength to walk in there and introduce yourself now. “This is going to be a fucking nightmare,” you mumble under your breath.

“Ah, Rog must have read the new review,” you hear someone say behind you. Startled, you quickly turn around and your face is eye level with a chest, which you realize belongs to Brian May once you look up. “You’d think after all this time he wouldn’t get so mad about critics. The rest of us find them funny.” He looks down to you and smiles. “I’m assuming you’re our shadow for the next couple of months,” he says as he holds out his hand. “Brian May, nice to meet you.”

You smile and shake his hand, thankful to know there’s at least one person who won’t want to grind you into mulch. “Y/N Y/L/N, and yes. I’m the shadow.” You turn your head and peek back into the rehearsal room. “Maybe I should come back tomorrow,” you mumble.

“Today’s just fine,” he tells you with his soft, calming voice. “Come on,” he puts his hand on your shoulder and walks you in. All eyes in the room immediately dart to you, and you’ve suddenly been overwhelmed with a great sense of intimidation. “This is Miss Y/L/N. She’s…”

“Ah, the writer,” Miami interjects as he scampers over to to shake your hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Jim…”

“Call him ‘Miami,’” you hear Freddie say with a laugh. “He prefers that. What are we supposed to call you?”

“Y/N,” you reply. “Please no ‘Miss’ anything. I hate formalities.”

John walks over to you with a smile on his face and a quiet giggle. “He’ll have a new name for you in a few days.” You give him a smile and shake his hand.

“Come sit, darling. I need to know all about you,” Freddie says as he pats the floor next to him. You glance back at Brian who is giving you an encouraging grin and join Freddie on the floor of the mock stage that’s set up.

For the next 20 minutes you happily answer their questions, and they yours, of course. None of this was on the record, more of an introductory chat with the people you are going to practically be living, eating and sleeping with for the next two months. To say you’re relieved is an understatement. No matter their status in the music world, they were all extremely down to earth and quite charming, so much so that you completely forgot about the scene you witnessed earlier, until…

“You must be the journalist,” you hear Roger hiss with an emphasis on the “t.” No one even noticed him walk over.

You start to stand up and introduce yourself. “Yeah, I’m…” But he stops you.

“Yeah, okay,” he mumbles and walks over to his drum kit. You press your lips together and sit back down, attempting to start your conversation up again, when Roger starts to beat his drums with an obnoxious and incessant pace, seeming to be doing so purposely to annoy you, at least that’s what you gather from the smug look he’s giving you. “Are we here to rehearse or chat up the broad?” he yells.

You roll your eyes and chuckle at his juvenile behavior, as do the others, and walk to the other side of the room to talk to Miami. “Do they ever take a break?” you ask. “They just finished Europe a few months ago.”

All he can do is laugh. “No, they don’t. And it’s exhausting.”

“I saw them in New York last year. They’re phenomenal.” His eyes grow wide with shock. “Just because one of our critics is rough doesn’t mean we all hate them,” you giggle. “I happen to be a fan.”

After three hours – and a lot of wondering as to how they manage to go for hours without passing out – they finish for the day and everyone heads for the door. You’re standing outside, your suitcases at your feet, watching everyone pile into their cars and have no idea what you’re supposed to do or where you’re supposed to be going. The first to leave is Roger, and he does so just as obnoxiously as he beat on his drums earlier, tearing out of the parking lot like he was in a hurry. “You can ride with me,” Brian says from behind. You turn and give him a curious look and he starts to laugh. “We’re going to the house.”

“Oh, I thought I was supposed to go…”

“No, you’re stuck with us,” he smiles and shrugs. “Sorry.”

When he pulls up to the house, you see everyone else walking inside, feeling intimidated all over again for reasons you don’t know. “I can go to a hotel if I’ll be in the way,” you tell him. “I don’t want to intrude or anything.”

“You’re not intruding. We’ll go inside, I’ll help you get your things to your room, then you’re joining us for dinner.” He takes note of your raised eyebrow and right lips and tries to be more reassuring. “And after dinner, Roger and Deaky will probably go to the pub, Fred will do whatever it is he does, Jim will go to bed and…” He stops and laughs. “You’re not intruding.”

You start to rub your eyes with your fingers and join in the laughter. “This is just too much,” you say with a sigh. “I just got thrown into this 4 days ago. Never had the chance to mentally prepare for any of it.” You drop your hands in your lap and give a shy smile. “And it’s not like everyone is exactly happy that I’m here.”

He throws his head back and laughs quietly. You quickly picked up that everything he does is done quietly (even when he was arguing during rehearsal earlier) and that’s why you felt comfortable around him. He wasn’t intimidating at all. “Ignore him,” he tells you. “He isn’t fond of people calling him a fascist.”

“No one called him a fascist,” you laugh. “I surely didn’t call him one. He needs to grow up. I didn’t write any of that crap.”

After getting settled in your room and freshening up, you head out the door to join everyone for dinner. “What are you doing here?” you immediately hear Roger grunt. “Are you going to be everywhere we go? We get no privacy at all?”

“Nice to see you, too,” you groan as you roll your eyes. “And don’t worry, I won’t be everywhere. You’ll have all the privacy you need in the bathroom.”

You start to walk away, but he isn’t done snipping. “That’s a shame. You’d probably have the thrill of your life if you got to watch me shower.”

“Don’t count on it. I’ve seen John Bonham naked. _That_ was a thrill.” You turn and walk away, smirking to yourself. If he wanted to keep being testy with you, you were going to dish it back. You didn’t have the desire or the patience to deal with some arrogant asshole.

You walk into the dining room where you hear everyone talking and wave. “There she is!” Freddie calls out. “Come sit.” You take your seat next to him and exchange your pleasantries with everyone. “We were just discussing where we’re going to put you on the bus.”

“Fuck’s sake, put her with the equipment,” Roger groans as he sits down. “She doesn’t need to be with us every second.”

You slam your hands on the table, finally having had enough of his bullshit. “Look, I don’t know what your problem is, but…”

“She’s riding with us,” John snaps. “If you have a problem with it, _you_ can ride with the equipment.”

Roger’s eyes glare at you, ignoring what John just told him. “My problem is that out of all the so-called journalists we can possibly have with us, they let someone from your piece of shit magazine come along. And you…”

“Stop it, Rog,” Freddie snaps, but he doesn’t.

“… waltz in here like …”

“Ignore him,” Freddie leans over and whispers. “He’s a bitter old hag sometimes.” You can help but giggle, and when Roger sees that, he becomes even more enraged.

But you take Freddie’s advice and ignore him, instead of baiting him like you want to, and decide to focus on Freddie. “What city are you most looking forward to?”

“New Orleans!” he exclaims. “We have a ridiculous party planned for the album release. It’s going to be absolutely salacious.”

The rest of dinner was spent talking to everyone except Roger, who was sitting at the end of the table, silently seething over the fact that everyone was getting along with you, which only encouraged you to be even more chipper than usual. You normally give everyone a chance after meeting them even when you don’t take to them immediately. You’ve dealt with this before – many times in fact – on your other assignments, and those that you got off on the wrong foot with usually always ended up being pretty cool, but you decided hours ago that you didn’t like Roger. You weren’t being fooled into thinking the feeling wasn’t mutual. You don’t know why you weren’t going to give him a chance. It’s not like he was being terrible – you’ve dealt with worse. And his attitude wasn’t nearly the worst you’ve encountered. There was just something about him that grated your nerves and you can’t quite pinpoint what it is. What you do know is that you’re taking great pleasure in knowing your mere presence is bothering him.

“Come to the pub,” John insists as everyone is standing up from the table. You can hear Roger groaning in the background, which, of course, makes you want to go, but you’re insanely tired and just want to go to bed.

“Thanks for the invite, but I’m really tired,” you reply with a smile, before hearing Roger start to mock you. “I had a long trip,” you explain, and his mocking gets louder as he walks to the door to leave. You’re trying hard to ignore him, but it’s hard to do. “You know what? Let’s go,” you tell John. “I could use a drink.” John smiles and throws an arm around your shoulder, walking you out the door.

You made sure you didn’t drink too much, just enough to relax and get a slight buzz. Drinking didn’t make Roger relax, at all, having the opposite effect in fact. It seemed like all he wanted to do was argue with you, and you happily obliged.

“‘More of the same dull pastiche,’ you idiots said,” he spit out. “If you hate our album so much why are you here?” he asked you.

You roll your eyes and grunt. “I didn’t write that. I never even heard the new album.” He starts to sarcastically chuff and tries to say something but you don’t give him the chance. “He hated your last album too, but I…”

“What’s your name anyway?” he asks with slightly furrowed brows. “Wait, are you the one who did that interview with Zeppelin back in…”

You start to laugh. “How do you think I got to see Bonham naked?” You raise your eyebrow and give him a smirk as you take a sip of your drink. John is finding the whole scene amusing and can’t stop laughing.

“Do you make it a habit to see drummers naked? I need to know so I can make sure I’m covered at all times.”

“Nah,” you say before you take a slow drag on your cigarette. “Only those I find impressive, so you don’t have anything to worry about.” You give him a sarcastic wink and take another sip of your drink, making a mental note of the narrowed eyes he’s shooting in your direction.

John starts to choke in his laughing fit and quickly finishes his beer. “I think it’s time to go now,” he says and grabs your arm, pulling you out of your seat and out the door before Roger has the chance to say anything back.

“I have a feeling this is going to be terrible,” you moan to Mike on the phone. “Everyone is lovely, but that fucking drummer…”

He starts to roar with laughter. “You always have issues with the drummers, Y/N. Why?”

“Because they’re all so cocky and carry a grudge against the world,” you sigh. “This one, though. Can you believe he can sit there and rattle off every negative thing that Barry ever wrote? And he’s blaming me for it.” You’re starting to get annoyed just thinking about it. “I’m sure it’ll get better. It’s just not exactly a great first impression. I’ve dealt with worse.”

“Just get us a good article out of all of this and I’ll see you when you’re in New York next month,” Mike chuckles before hanging up the phone. You roll your eyes as you do the same and when you turn around, Roger starts fussing.

“I will have you know that I absolutely carry a grudge. I am very proud of what we’ve done and…”

You hold a hand up telling him to stop. “For someone so worried about privacy, you don’t care about invading the privacy of others,” you snap. “And how many times to I have to tell you that I didn’t write anything negative about you or the band?” He opens his mouth to talk, but you hold your hand up again. “I’m tired. I’m cranky. And your ridiculous whining is now starting to bore me.” His eyes follow you as you walk away, wanting so bad to snip at you, but he can’t. “And stop looking at my ass,” you yell out as you head down the hallway.

When you disappear, and as Roger is standing there speechless, John and Freddie walk up to him, chuckling. “Don’t say a fucking word,” he fusses them. “She’s beautiful, yes, but she’s a nightmare.”


	2. Chapter 2

**October 28, 1978 – Dallas, Texas** The two weeks that have passed since the day you inserted yourself into the world that is Queen were a complete whirlwind of emotions and moods. If you had to guess, you experienced every single one possible, and perhaps even a few they don’t even have a name for. Despite it all, you were having a great time, and you knew it was only to get better from here.

The only hitch was the drummer. It’s gotten to the point where the two of you can’t even look at each other without starting to argue about something, even if it meant you had to look for something to pick about. The road crew found it hilarious and did everything they could to fuel the fire with the dumbest of things. “He said…,” they’d tell you. Or “she said…,” they’d tell him. And just as they hoped, it would start an argument between the two of you. He even started yelling at you during their soundcheck earlier today because he saw you cringe at something someone told you. He thought you were cringing at whatever it was he was singing and he blew up, when in all actuality, you weren’t even paying attention to what he was doing.

In order not to bring tension to the others, you decided to sit out in the hall when the guys were getting ready for tonight’s show, the first on their tour, taking the opportunity to talk with the roadies and hear their stories. Some of the things they were telling you were enough to make a schoolgirl blush, but you were no schoolgirl, and you had seen so much filth when visiting other bands none of it surprised you.

“Don’t listen to anything they tell you,” John jokingly yelled as he walked by to get to the stage. “Everything is a lie!”

“You mean you didn’t run naked through that hotel in Berlin, Deaky?” you laughed. “And here I was thinking you were cool.”

You hear Freddie start to laugh. “We have many stories about him,” he tells you. “But we can’t tell you those on the record.”

Roger passes by at the same time and the two of you share a snarky glare, saying nothing, although you want to. Thankfully Brian also appears and stops you from starting anything. “Let’s go, Y/N. You’ll be sitting by me tonight.” He puts a hand on your arm and escorts you to the stage. Roger passes the two of you and grunts, this time not glaring at you, but at Brian, who has no idea why he’s the recipient of it this time. “He was in such a good mood a few minutes ago,” he chuckled.

“I guess I just have that effect on him,” you shrug and giggle. “Good luck out there.” He smiles and nods and makes his way out.

The show was amazing, just as you knew it would be, and the energy of the crowd fueled them to perfection. You were finishing up scribbling your notes when they came off the stage, excited and exhausted, patting each other on the back and discussing the show. You stayed off to the side, not wanting to get in their way, and quietly followed them to the back.

“Got one for you, Rog,” you hear one of the crew members say. “If you want her.” You roll your eyes and sneak past to get to the dressing room, completely oblivious to Roger’s gaze following you as you walk by.

“That was phenomenal!” you exclaim as you stand in the doorway of their dressing room. “I’m going to head back to the bus so I can type this up and call it in to my editor so they can send it to print tomorrow.”

“No! Don’t go back yet!” Brian calls out as you turn to head out the door. “The fun’s just getting started.”

“Let her go,” Roger sneers as he walks in, nudging you as he passes by. “She probably can’t handle fun anyway.”

“If you’re going to be there, then no. That’s not a type of fun I can handle,” you snark.

Freddie quickly jumps up and starts walking towards you. “Alright you two, no fighting tonight,” he chuckles, trying to get your attention focused on him, but you and Roger can’t stop glaring at each other.

“I’ll go back with you,” Brian whispers in your ear as he gently takes hold of your arm. “I’m tired anyway.” You turn and look up at Brian who is trying to stifle his laugh. “Lets go before your stellar review turns into something else,” he grins. You smile and nod your head and head out to the bus.

What you were hoping would be at least an hour of quiet ended up being a massive headache, thankfully not erupting until you finished writing. Brian gave you space, leaving you alone at the table where you were pecking away at your typewriter, but then the door opened as soon as you finished, and 5 members of the road crew piled in, followed by Roger who started yelling that there was one more person coming. Brian waved for you to go sit by him to get you out of the cluster of madness that has formed, so you hurried and packed your typewriter away before rushing to the back of the bus. Someone walked behind you, you don’t know who it was, and they accidentally nudged you a bit too hard and you fell in Brian’s lap. “I won’t put this in my article,” you laugh. “Don’t worry.”

“Well come on, doll. We won’t wait all night,” Roger yells out the door, and this timid, meek girl climbs in. She can’t be older than 20, if she’s even that old, and she shyly smiles as she rushes to stand behind Roger.

You turn your head and glare at Brian who just shakes his head and chuckles. “What about that?” he asks in a low whisper. “Is that going in your article?”

“What? And ruin that poor girl’s reputation?” you giggle.

“Looks like we’re both getting lucky tonight, Bri,” Roger says, loudly, as he passes by and you start to seethe. This is one of those moments where the mere sound of his voice is getting to you. You try to ignore him. You know he’s drunk and high on whatever – you can see it in his slightly bloodshot eyes – so you don’t want to take anything he has to say to heart, but sometimes he makes that impossible. “Mine may take a little convincing, but Y/N? I bet she’s getting wet just sitting there since this is probably the most physical contact she’s had…”

“Fuck you, Roger!” you yell and move to get to him. You want to slap him, but you can’t quite reach him, because Brian is holding your hips and pulling you back. He stands there laughing, but no one else is laughing with him.

“Ignore him,” Brian whispers in your ear as he’s holding you close. “He’s drunk.”

You force yourself out of Brian’s grasp, grab your purse and storm out to make your phone call. “I can’t help it if she can’t take a fucking joke,” you hear Roger grumble as you’re walking out. You don’t stay to argue like you normally would. All you want to do is get out of there. You don’t know why his comment pissed you off as much as it did. Maybe because you’ve finally had enough, and this was only the first stop of the tour.

After rattling off your review of the show to the editor’s assistant on the pay phone outside, you slam the phone down in a huff and turn around, only to be greeted by John and his smiling face. “Did I just hear you compliment Roger?” he chuckled. “I’m not sure if my ears deceive me.”

“It was an honest review,” you shrug. “Why lie about it just because he’s a complete asshole?”

**October 29, 1978 – Memphis, Tennessee** The ride was long and uncomfortable 9 hour ride from Dallas and you hoped you would quickly find some kind of way to sleep on the bus without waking up sore. You’d worry about that tomorrow, you guess, because tonight you get to sleep in an actual bed. And have a hot shower. And be alone, something you haven’t been in over a week. You almost want to lock yourself in until tomorrow morning when you head to the next stop, but you know that can’t happen. At least you have a few hours before you have to leave for the venue. That gives you enough time to pick out your outfit. Tonight you’re not sitting on the stage – you’re going to mingle with the crowd, and you need to blend. You decide to wear your black leather pants and tight red shirt instead of comfortable jeans and a t-shirt like you wore last night.

At the agreed upon time, you walk down to the lobby to wait for everyone to congregate and leave together. After standing around for a while talking, you walk outside to have a cigarette. “I can’t even have a smoke in peace,” you hear Roger groan as soon as you step out.

“Shit,” you groan and start to walk back inside.

“Wait. Y/N,” he stops you. You roll your eyes and turn around, but his eyes aren’t meeting yours. They’re looking down, in the direction of your chest that is being accentuated by your choice of attire for the night.

“Up here, Blondie,” you groan as you guide his eyes with your fingers. When he looks up at you, you’re lighting your cigarette and raise an eyebrow. The tone of his voice when he stopped you wasn’t harsh or forceful, which were the only two tones he ever used with you before now, so you were somewhat suspicious.

“Who’d you wear that for?” he chuffs. “Brian’s a married man.” He raises his brow back at you and you’re starting to seethe inside again just like you did last night.

“Oh, go fuck yourself, drummer boy,” you groan and turn your back to him.

“You know what your problem is?” he says, his voice raising as you hear him walking closer to you. You turn around, angrily, and give him the same glare you’re accustomed to giving him. “Your problem is that you’re too fucking uptight.”

“What?” you yell with a sarcastic laugh. “I’m not the one with a problem! You’ve been a complete dick to me since day one! All because you’re butt hurt over something one person said. And you have the audacity to call _me_ uptight?”

“You so-called journalists are all the same so why should I kiss your ass like everyone else is?” he yells back.

“No one is kissing my ass!” you yell.

“Not yet,” you hear Freddie joke as he walks outside. “But it’s so perky I even want to sometimes.” He smacks your butt and lets out a hearty laugh. “It’s stressful being around you two sometimes. All of the bickering…”

Roger storms inside in a huff and you roll your eyes. “I’m sorry, Freddie. It’s just…”

“He’s difficult. I know. Trust me, I know,” he chuckles. “You give him a hard time. We all love it, really.” The band’s limo pulls up, and Freddie grabs your arm. “You are riding with us. I’m not letting you ride with those wildebeests,” he giggles as he points to the road crew.

Roger stares at you the entire ride to the venue. You can feel it, but you never give him any attention. Instead, you hold a conversation with John while Brian and Freddie bicker about something you’re not paying any attention to.

When you arrive, everyone piles out of the limo, and Roger follows behind you. “Deaky’s married too,” he mumbles in your ear. Before you can snap and start yelling, he walks away, quite amused with himself for getting to you. But you’re not letting him get away.

You quicken your pace and catch up to him. “Why do you think I’m here? To fuck everyone?”

He quickly stops walking and turns to face you. “It would be more meaningful than anything you’ll be printing in that magazine.”

“Brush it off, for God’s sake,” you groan. “Do what everyone else does and use negative criticism as motivation. And who cares what some jackass has to say? Clearly people don’t pay attention to any of it because you are actually good at what you do.”

He starts to laugh. “Like you have any opinion that’s worthwhile.”

“Stop being a fucking child!” you yell at him. “I just gave you a compliment and you’re still trying to argue with me.”

**October 30, 1978, 5pm – New Orleans, Louisiana** You were bored and you’re tired on the ride from Memphis, choosing to sit alone in the back of the bus and watch the trees go by. They invited you to play Scrabble, but you turned them down, already tired of Roger’s crap and it was only noon. Instead, you decided to try and nap, closing your eyes, only to be jolted awake by a bump in the road or by the occasional spurt of yelling coming from the front of the bus. It was an almost hopeless venture, but you tried anyway, deciding to just keep your eyes closed and not let anything make you open them. Of course, thinking these things and actually succeeding were two different things, especially since you were on a bus with the bane of your existence.

Any time you’d hear him speak, you’d internally cringe. If you’d see him, you’d internally cringe. Come to think of it, you’re always internally cringing when he’s around because you never know what he’s going to say or do to draw you into an argument. It was childish, and you weren’t innocent in any of it, because you’d pick at his nerves too.

The bus finally pulls up outside of the hotel around 5:00 and you can’t get out quick enough. You just spent the last 3 hours arguing with Roger about everything. Music, books, clothes, New York, even the color of the sky. Even when you were actually agreeing with each other, you argued about that. You had to get away from him and fast. It wasn’t going to be that easy.

“How can you possibly say that Harrison is better than Lennon?” he argues as he follows you out of the bus and into the hotel lobby. “That is the most ludicrous thing I’ve ever heard you say, and I’ve heard you say a lot of ludicrous things.”

You turn to him, not wanting to cause a scene in public, but you can’t not continue the debate. “How can you not? Just imagine how much better The Beatles would have been if they’d have made more of his songs.” He stands there, looking at you blankly. “Have you not heard his solo work or…”

“Don’t you two ever get tired?” Freddie walks by and mumbles. “We’re here for three days. Fucking relax and enjoy it.” You and Roger share a side eyed glare and stop arguing, walking away in opposite directions.

You decided to take the stairs up to your 4th floor room, hoping that it would help release tension. It did, but it came rushing back the second you get to your room at the end of the hall after being relieved that it was away from all of the others. “This must some kind of joke,” you mumble, seeing Roger walk to his door, directly across the hall from yours.

“Maybe they put us way over here because they’re tired of the arguing,” he chuckled, running a hand through his hair. You had to chuckle, too, and within seconds the both of you were laughing, finally finding humor in something. “Are you coming out with us? We’re leaving in an hour. Going walk around and see what trouble we can make.”

You were shocked. Not that they were going out, but that he may have just invited you. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Are you planning on it now? We’re meeting in the lobby.” This sudden hint of actual niceness coming from him was a little concerning, but you agreed to go and went in your room to get dressed.

Of course, the pleasantness that the two of you shared was short lived. Probably because of the amount of alcohol that was being consumed.

…and because of the fact no one knew were Freddie snuck off to.

…and because Brian left to go meet an old friend so he wasn’t around to referee.

…and because John left you and Roger alone in some alley after getting tired of being ignored because the two of you were busy arguing. Again. This time over how to spell and pronounce “aluminum.” Or is it “aluminium?” Who cares anymore? This was probably the most ridiculous argument the two of you had since the day you met him two weeks ago. This argument went on as the two of you were trying to find your way back to the hotel at 2am, and it continued all the way through the hotel lobby once you found your way back, and during the elevator ride, and down the hall to your rooms. It didn’t end when you were pulling the key out of your pocket as he hovered over you when you were stumbling as you were trying to unlock the door.

“You can’t say ‘aluminium’ correctly and you can’t even open your fucking door,” he fussed as he grabbed the key out of your hand.

“I don’t need your help,” you hiss, trying to grab the key back, but he overpowered you and opened the door.

He found this funny and started roaring with laughter. “Clearly you do,” he said. You rolled your eyes and walked in your room, and when you went to close the door he was standing in the way. “Don’t be mad,” he says, still laughing, more so now at the anger on your face. “You’re always mad.”

“I’m only mad when I’m around _you_,” you sneer, “because you’re impossible to deal with.”

“_I’m_ impossible?” he sneers back, his laughter immediately stopping. “You’re the one that’s impossible.” He moves closer to you, out of the doorway, and the door closes itself behind him. “All you do is look for things to bitch about and it’s irritating.”

“Irritating? I can’t even breathe around you without you telling me I’m doing it wrong.” You stand firm, and he keeps inching his way closer to you, and suddenly you are completely mesmerized by his eyes. You never really looked at them before, and now you can’t stop looking. “And you’re _so_ arrogant. I don’t know why…”

He grabs you on the top of your arms and stares straight in your eyes – or perhaps straight through you – his gaze filled with a mix of anger and lust, causing a chill to run up your spine. “Shut up, Y/N,” he growls, his tone shallow and deep.

“Make me,” you say through gritted teeth. He grabs your face in his hands and leans down, kissing you hard as he plunges his tongue into your mouth. You wrap your arms around his neck, and he picks you up, your legs wrapping around his waist and his pelvis thrusting into yours as he walks forward and pins you against the wall. You start to thrust against him, tongues entwined in a fury. “You want to fuck me, don’t you?” you growl.

Before he can answer, there’s a loud knock on your door, followed by someone yelling your name, seemingly in a panic. “Y/N? Please tell me you’re in there!” It’s John, and he’s worried.

“Yeah, I’m in here!” you yell as Roger puts you down and quickly moves away, both of you sobering up quite fast. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t find Roger. He won’t answer his door,” John yells. “Did he come back with you?”

You hurry and open the door, but not wide, just a crack so John can see your face. “He’s fine. He’s probably passed out,” you tell him with shorted breath an exhausted face.

“Oh, shit, Y/N, I’m sorry!” John apologetically exhaled. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to interrupt.” He quickly turned and walked away.

You close the door and turn around, Roger standing in front of you. “Not a fucking word,” he mumbles. “I don’t know what…”

“Trust me,” you groan. “No one is going to hear about this.” You crack the door open again and poke your head out, making sure no one is around. “Go,” you tell him as you open the door wider for him to leave. As soon as he does, you slam the door and throw yourself on the bed.


	3. Chapter 3

**October 31, 1978 – New Orleans, Louisiana** You dreaded tonight since Roger left your room. You avoided him all day, at least you tried to. He was doing all he could to avoid you, too, but sometimes it wasn’t easy to do. When you were around each other, you didn’t even acknowledge the other’s presence. No snipping, no death stares – nothing. Everyone noticed that something was going on, but no one dared ask, feeling if they did it would disturb the peace.

Most of your day was spent getting the run down of the party tonight that was being thrown to celebrate the release of their new album. You stood in the ballroom as everything was being prepared, jotting down notes in your notebook, in complete awe of the gaudiness of the whole thing.

You decided to skip the show tonight. The less chance of contact with Roger the better, you thought. It would also give you time to rest, given how you knew the night would be long and hard, especially since the party didn’t start until 11:00. Freddie’s parties were rumored to be legendary, and given how he had a direct influence on this one, you knew that wickedness and debauchery were in the works. Staying back also gave you the chance to mix with other journalists and label executives. You loved your job, but any chance to network and sell your talents was one to jump at.

But first you needed to dress the part, so you ventured into the hotel’s boutique to find the perfect ensemble. The lady working talked you into a long silver dress, something you would have never dared even touch before, but after much convincing, you tried it on. “It looks like it was made just for you!” the lady exclaimed as you walked out of the dressing room. After taking a look in the mirror, first feeling a little self-conscious seeing how the spaghetti straps and loosely flowing top left little to the imagination, you agreed. “I have the perfect shoes for this,” she tells you as she walks away before returning with a pair of silver heels. “Wear your hair down,” she says as she plays with your ponytail. “And not much makeup. You don’t need much,” she smiles, putting you at ease.

Just as Freddie said it would be, the party was salacious. When you walked in the ballroom, you were hit with a mixture of amusement and amazement, and immediately abandoned any nerves you had built up. It was decorated as gaudy as you’d imagined it would end up being and well stocked with food and alcohol, of course. Barely clothed women, oddities and debauchery galore. You weren’t left alone for long. Everyone was chatty and curious, as were you, and the alcohol helped the conversations flow easily.

The guys all walked in together, accompanied by strippers, naturally. Anything to make a ridiculously amusing entrance. As soon as he saw you, Roger’s eyes instantly meet yours, and you freeze, as does he. You hurry and turn around, restarting the conversation you were having with the radio executive who was not very interesting.

Freddie also sees you and immediately makes his way through the crowd to you. “Look at you, darling,” he smiles as he kisses your cheek. “Divine. You should be in a painting.”

“Hush,” you giggle as you slap his shoulder. “You don’t have to kiss my ass.” You introduce him to who you were talking to and walk away, a woman on a mission. A mission you didn’t want to be on but something was forcing you to go on it.

When you emerge from the crowd, you see Roger again, and he sees you, almost as if he was looking for you. “Y/N? Is that you?” you hear a voice from behind, and you see Mike, your editor. “Wow, you really can dress up, huh?”

“I didn’t know you were coming!” You drew him into a hug, a big smile on your lips, so happy to see a familiar face. “What are you doing here?”

“I had to check on you, see how you were doing, make sure you didn’t kill anyone yet.” The entire time you and Mike were talking, you felt Roger staring at you, and whenever you’d sneak a glance over in his direction, you’d confirm it. So you weren’t exactly surprised when he snuck up on you when you went to the bar to get another drink.

“Who’s your friend?” he asks you, leaning into your ear.

“That’s…” You pause and smirk, “none of your concern.” You know he won’t cause a scene, not here, so you continue to taunt him, still smirking. “Are you jealous?”

“Why would I possibly be jealous?” he asks. “I’m just curious. You look like you’re having a good time with him.”

“So you’ve been watching me?” you ask, sarcastically pretending to be surprised.

“You know I have been. Your desperate eyes have been watching me, too.”

You chuckle and roll your eyes. “Desperate. Hardly.”

You turn to walk away but he grabs your arm, and now he’s smirking too. “You want my cock in you so bad you can hardly stand it,” he chuckles. “You’re probably getting wet just thinking about it.”

You glance down at his leather pants and look back up. “Looks like you’re the one having a hard time containing yourself.”

Brian hurries over, having seen you and Roger sharing an intense stare, making him worry that there’s going to be a huge argument in the middle of the party and he drags Roger away. You go back to Mike, planning to stay by him for the rest of the party, but you’re unable to keep your eyes off of the blonde haired, blue eyed guy who can’t seem to stop looking at you.

Hours passed and the party started to wind down, finally. You eventually lost track of Roger, and you didn’t care anymore. You were busy having a good time. You have no idea what time it is, not that it even matters, but you do know that you’re feeling very tired, and very drunk. You bid Mark goodbye – he has to be at the airport in a few hours, and you decide to go back to your room.

Roger slams his door shut when you’re trying to unlock yours. “Jesus Christ, you scared me,” you gasp after being startled by the noise.

“Do you need help again?” he jokes as he walks over.

“No I don’t need help.” His presence has you irritated again, especially since he keeps chuckling as he watches you try to unlock the door.

“Give me the key,” he laughs as he takes it from you and unlocks the door. “You’re fucking useless.” He dangles the key in your face and you quickly snatch it before walking in. “I’m surprised you came back alone. I thought you’d have that guy with you.”

“That guy is my editor, Roger,” you sigh “And you’re surprised I came back alone? What about you? Didn’t see anything you liked?”

“Oh, I saw a lot that I liked. Didn’t want any of them,” he shrugs.

“That’s a surprise,” you grumble as you grab your sleepwear from the top of your suitcase and sit on the bed to take off your shoes. “Normally you’d have at least one in your room by now.” He’s standing there, silent, watching you walk into the bathroom to change your clothes. You don’t close the door all the way, and he can see everything through in the reflection on the mirror through the crack in the door. “What’s wrong? Not feeling up to it?” you ask before walking out, dressed in shorts and a tank top, your usual sleep attire, throwing your dress over the chair.

“You should hang that up,” he says, pointing to your dress. “It’ll get wrinkled if you don’t.”

You glare at him, completely unamused, and your irritation grows. “Why are you even in my room? There is no reason for you to be here.” He says nothing, only stares at you the same way he was doing last night before he pounced on you. “I think you should leave,” you mumble.

“Why?”

“Because if you don’t…”

He takes off his sunglasses, puts them in the pocket of his jacket and walks closer to you. “If I don’t, what?” He moves even closer. “Come on, tell me what. Your mouth never had a hard time speaking before.”

You push him away from you and he stumbles back. “You’re so fucking _annoying_.”

“And you think you’re _not_ annoying?” he snips as he walks back to you. “You are the most…” He stops.

“The most _what_?” He doesn’t answer. “Well, come on, your mouth never had a hard time speaking before,” you mock. You grab his tie, pull him down so his face is at your level. “Cat got your tongue, Mr. Taylor?”

Suddenly, his mouth crashes into yours, melding your lips together in a kiss that is frantic and desperate, his tongue and yours woven together. He dips lower as he starts to kiss your neck, moving a hand into the front of your shorts. A sharp breath escapes you as his fingers find your clit and he starts to rub in an erratic circle. “Already so fucking wet,” he whispers with a growl in your ear.

You move your hand down to the crotch of his pants and cup his bulging cock that is visible through his leather pants. “You’ve been aching to get this in me all night, haven’t you?” You pull his jacket off and grab his tie again, making him look at you. “You better make me scream,” you sneer as you push him away, his hand moving out of your shorts. You stand there for a moment, both of you staring at each other, breathing heavily.

He hurriedly starts to take off his tie as you climb on the bed, leaning back on your elbows, your eyes not leaving him, watching him as he throws his tie, then his shirt on the ground. You sit up on the edge of the bed as he walks closer and grab the waist of his pants, pulling him even closer. You unhook his belt as he reaches down and takes off your shirt, massaging your breasts as soon as they were free. He pushes you down on your back and quickly pulls off your shorts, again rubbing his hand over your wetness. “I bet you touch yourself a lot, don’t you?” he asks in a feverous tone, hovering over your naked body. “Do you think about me when you do it?”

“Fuck you,” you snarl.

“You should do it more,” he snarls back. “You’re so fucking tense all the time.”

“Only around you,” you pant. He shoves two fingers inside of you and smirks, knowing he’s got you right where he wants you. “I can’t stand you,” you groan.

“I can’t stand you either, Y/N,” he groans back. He can’t help himself. He loves getting under your skin, and he knows that you had no idea how much it turns him on when you get angry.

You fiercely unbutton his pants as he continues to finger fuck you and grab his dick. “Look at you, already so fucking hard.” You look up into his eyes, both of you breathing heavy and rapidly. “Tell me, Roger. How many times have you fallen asleep dreaming of this being pushed inside me?” You start to push his pants down, but he hurries to stand up and finishes taking them off.

He climbs back on the bed, hovering himself over you as he slowly starts to push just the head of his rock inside of you. “I bet you’re so fucking tight,” he groans. “You’re already better than I imagined.”

You grab his face with one of your hands and make him look at you again. “Stop talking and fuck me,” you yell.

“I would, but I’m so annoying, remember?” He grabs your wrists and holds you down as you wrap your legs tightly around his waist.

“Roger, I swear to God…”

“Can you just shut the fuck up for once?” He fusses as he jerks his hips into yours, his cock sliding further in you. “So bossy,” he groans, and your moans get louder. “Can’t shut your mouth for five minutes,” he says as he gives another short push. “Always trying to piss me off,” he grunts while giving you a harder thrust. “So maybe you need to shut the fuck up for once.” You moan and twist your hips, forcing the rest of his cock inside you.

“Shit,” you whisper as he fully enters you.

“I knew you’d like it,” he grinned.

You grab the back of his head and pull him to you, your mouths once again meeting in a fierce, fiery passion. His hips were rising and falling in a slow but forceful rhythm. “I said you better make me scream,” you groan. “Go harder, you asshole.” Your legs grab around him harder and you pull him to you, trying to emphasize your point.

He caved to your demands, slamming into you hard and fast. Your nails dig into his back, the two of you releasing every single ounce of frustration that’s been building up inside for the past two weeks. “Like this?” he pants. “Is this how you want me to fuck you?”

You push him off, rolling him over on his back and you quickly kneel over him, your legs on each side of him, holding his still throbbing dick to your slick entrance. He looks down and watches as your lower yourself down, feeling himself fill you. You start to gyrate your hips, grinding yourself against him as he holds your ass to control your speed. “_This_ is how I want you to fuck me.”

He rubs his hands up to your back and pulls you down to him, his lips curling up into a wicked smile. “I’m supposed to make you scream,” he said dryly. He lifts his hips up in a powerful thrust, catching you by surprise, and keeps thrusting upward. He slammed his cock right into your g-spot, causing you to scream with pleasure. “You fucking love it, don’t you?” he sneers.

“Yes!” you scream. “I fucking love it. I love the way you’re fucking me right now.” You time your strokes so you’re pushing down as he’s thrusting up, bringing your bodies together with the delicacy of a hurricane.

“You feel good. You feel so fucking good, Y/N,” he breathlessly calls out. “I should have fucked you weeks ago.”

The overwhelming monstrous force of the imminent climax that was overcoming both of you as he continues starts to make it impossible for either of you to speak anymore. Your screams and moans of encouragement have turned into incoherent babble having become completely disconnected from every semblance of reality.

The sheer force of the explosive orgasm sweeps you away. Every nerve ending in your body lights up as if every inch of you has become one complete erogenous zone.

You roll off of him, your entire body covered with a sweaty sheen as you lay on your back, your deep breaths causing your chest to heave. “Wow, Y/N. Who knew you had it in you?” he laughs.

“Shhh,” you say as you roll over and cover yourself with the bedsheet. “No talking.”

**November 1, 1978 – 3:00pm** You wake up and find yourself in Roger’s arms. He was sound asleep, and clearly he was sleeping when he started to hold you, because there was no way in hell he would do this because he wanted to. You moved his arm and climb out of bed, not sure if you’re feeling ashamed, disgusted or rejuvenated. Perhaps a mix of all three. When you move he doesn’t even budge. You grab a change of clothes and take a shower, hoping he’d hear you, wake up and leave, this way there would be no chance to talk about it. But when you walk out of the bathroom, he’s still there, in your bed, sleeping. You started packing up – the bus was leaving at 5 – and are making as much noise as possible.

He finally wakes up and sits up, watching you frantically pack your suitcase and he starts to chuckle. You hurry and throw his clothes at him, yelling at him to leave. “Go pack. Go do whatever you want, just get out!”

But he was calm, calmer than you felt he should have been. “Should we talk…” he started to ask but you cut him off.

“No!” you yell before taking a deep breath and relaxing. “No talking,” you whisper as you rub your eyes. “Just go, please.” He says nothing as he throws his clothes on and walks out the room.

After getting on the bus, you take your regular seat in the back. You were quiet, and everyone noticed. They left you alone for the most part so you took the time to start writing your article.

“Working hard?” Brian asks quietly with a smile as he approaches.

“Yeah,” you smile back as you pat the seat next to you. “Sit. I have some questions if you’d be so kind.” As you spend the next half hour talking with Brian, you can see Roger’s glare, and you try your best to ignore it, but your eyes can’t stop looking at his and he can’t stop looking at you.

Brian notices the two of you as well and starts to joke. “Even when you aren’t talking to each other the tension is high.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just…”

“Never seen him so wound up over a woman before. Usually he’s polite.”

“What can I say? I’m special,” you joke as you shrug.

“Yeah,” he says in almost a whisper. “You are…”

You quickly clear your throat before you get lost in whatever this is, because you do not need more drama, _especially_ not with Brian. “Well, thank you for the impromptu interview,” you tell him as you stand up and pat his shoulder. “I need to stretch my legs.” You walk to the front of the bus, immediately realizing it was a bad idea as Roger stares at you, so you hurry and turn back around.

He follows quietly and sits in the seat next to you and doesn’t give you the chance to protest. “What are you doing, Y/N? Why are you avoiding me?” he loudly whispers.

“I’m not avoiding you.”

“You’re bothered about last night. Look, I…”

“Why do you think this has anything to do with you?” you fuss as you stand up to move. “Not everything is about _you_.”

He stands up and blocks your path, and all eyes on the bus dart to the two of you. “Why are you always so fucking difficult?” he yells.

“Why are you always in my space?” you yell back. “I’m trying to do my job. Will you just leave me alone?”

He sits back down and tugs on your arm, pulling you down to sit. “I want to apologize for how I acted last night,” he tells you, his tone low and his teeth gritted. “Will you let me apologize?”

“No,” you say. “Because you have nothing to apologize for. We both wanted it. We did it. And that’s that.” He tries to say more, but you don’t let him. “No one has to know and it won’t happen again.”

He starts to laugh and your anger starts to rise. “Sure. It won’t happen again,” he says with sarcasm as he stands up and smirks at you before walking away.


	4. Chapter 4

**November 8, 1978 – somewhere in Pennsylvania **Maybe things should have changed after what happened in New Orleans, but they didn’t. If anything, the tension between you and Roger only grew. The two of you weren’t constantly arguing, mainly because you’d avoid him as much as you could, but when you were around him, it was almost guaranteed that something would set the two of you off.

Just as he predicted, it did happen again since that night in New Orleans, this time in the bathroom at the venue in Landover after the show a few nights ago. After enjoying an abundance of alcohol, just like the first time it almost happened and the first night It actually did, the two of you started to argue again about how impossible and annoying the other is, away from everyone else. You instigated it this time, having pushed him against the wall of the bathroom and locking the door behind you. It wasn’t one of your prouder moments, getting fucked while leaning over a bathroom sink with his hand covering your mouth to keep you quiet. You weren’t proud of any of it, really, and you absolutely hate the fact that you loved the sex. Loved it. You can’t stand him, and he can’t stand you, but it was the best sex you ever had.

“That is absolute bullshit!” Roger yells. “That album was terrible!”

You roll your eyes and glance at Freddie. “When this is over, I’m going to need therapy,” you say. “I won’t know how to handle not having stupid arguments every single day.”

“You should get therapy regardless,” Roger mumbles.

You chuckle. “If anyone on this bus needs therapy…” You stop yourself from finishing. “I’m not… You know what?” You’re so frustrated you can’t even think of something to snap back with, instead opting to roll your eyes and stop talking before walking to the back of the bus.

“Good,” he mumbles. “I’m tired of hearing you yap anyway.” Freddie smacks Roger on the back of his head as you walk away, and they start fussing at each other, but you’re not listening. You’re tired of hearing Roger yap, too. Judging by the time, you’re assuming you have six hours left in this tin can with that jackass, so you’re not wanting to start today’s requisite argument now. You throw yourself in a seat away from everybody, angry. Not angry because of what he told you. You’re angry because all you can think about is how you want him to fuck your brains out right now, and you’re completely sober. Usually when you want him this bad you’re drunk. But for some reason, right now, all you want is for everyone else to disappear so you can get it.

Roger, on the other hand, is wondering why you didn’t argue with him. It’s not normal for you to walk away from an argument. He loved getting under your skin – he loved knowing that he drove you crazy, and he knew the sex would be better for it, because he knew it would happen again. No matter how hard the two of you resisted – especially you – it was going to happen again. What was making him angry was that he didn’t know why you have such a hold over him. Nothing was normal anymore. That girl in Dallas? He didn’t have sex with her. That girl in Miami you saw him with? He didn’t even touch her. He only picked her up to piss you off, but it didn’t. Hundreds of girls threw themselves at him every single night but he didn’t want any of them. All he wanted was _you_, and it frustrated him as much as you do.

**November 9, 1978 – Detroit, Michigan **Tonight you can lock yourself away. They have two shows here in Detroit, so skipping tonight’s show and staying in your room, out of sight from any of them for at least 24 hours, is a great idea to you. You’re trying to concentrate on writing, but you can’t get him out of your head, and it’s frustrating. You’re not thinking about the arguments or how annoying he is. You can’t stop thinking about the way his eyes pierce through you, how his hands feel when they grab you, how good he feels when he’s inside of you. You try to snap out of it, but it isn’t working, so you decide to get out and find someplace to go.

You end up walking around for a while, clearing your head. You have no particular destination so you wander around, finding nothing particularly interesting, but it helped take your mind off of him, so you kept walking. You eventually stumble upon a dive bar close to the hotel, so you decided to stop in and have a drink or two, or three… You lost count. You didn’t care, because he was out of your head.

But you see him when you get back to the hotel. You see all of them, actually, and you tried to ignore them, but Freddie wasn’t going to let that happen. “There she is!” he exclaims as he sees you walk by. “How did you enjoy your night off, doll?” He wraps an arm around you and pulls you in for a one-armed hug.

“It was alright,” you reply. “How was the show?” He keeps his arm around you as he walks to the hotel bar and insists you have a drink with him. John and Roger joined you at the bar, and, of course, you and Roger start bickering, much to John and Freddie’s amusement.

“So you spent the entire night alone?” Roger sarcastically asks. “Even when you were off drinking?” You shoot him a glare, silently begging him not to start his shit, but he can’t help himself. “No one in this city good enough for the lady?”

You take a slow sip of your drink and put it down. “Maybe the last guy I had sex with was so bad it turned me off of it for a while.” He shoots you a smirk, because he knows damn good and well you enjoyed it. “So what about you? No one good enough?”

“Mmm,” he mumbles. “I do have my standards,” he smirks.

You start to laugh. “Yeah, I saw the one in Miami. Such high standards.”

John jumps in to try and stop any really big argument from happening. “So, Y/N, I read your review of our Dallas show,” he says with a huge grin. “Did you read it, Rog?”

“Why would I?” Roger chuffs. “If I want to know what she thinks I’ll ask her myself.”

You take the last sip of your drink and stand up from the table, feeling too drunk and too tired to deal with his crap. “I’m going to bed,” you groan. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

When you get back to your dark hotel room, you take off your pants, change into a trusty tank top and climb into bed. As soon as you get comfortable, he’s right back in your head again, and you cave and accept the fact that he won’t be leaving any time soon. You consider turning on the television to find a distraction, but you’d rather lay there in the dark. And your brain starts to swirl, and you start to feel him even though he’s not there. You feel his fingers rubbing your clit like they did that time. You hear his voice, you smell his scent, and you can’t resist anymore. Your fingers glide down underneath your panties and you start to rub, close your eyes and bite your lip, recalling every single movement and every single breath he made. Maybe, you thought, this was the only way to get him to leave your thoughts.

You’re interrupted by someone trying to get in your room, startling you and snapping you back to reality. “Wrong room!” you yell, but still, whoever it is keeps trying to unlock your door. Frustrated, you jump out of bed and storm to the door, not realizing that you’re only wearing your tank top and underwear. You throw open the door and yell, “I said, wrong room!” Once you see who it is, your mouth drops open, as does his.

“Why are you in my room?” Roger asks, pushing you aside as he walks in. “How did you get a key?” He falls down on the bed, clearly a little drunk, not that you’re fully sober either.

“This is my room,” you sneer. “Get off of my bed.” He doesn’t move, instead choosing to stay laying there, turning on his side and propping himself up on his elbow. “Roger!” you yell, but he just stays there, looking at you with a smile.

He starts to chuckle. “Dressed just for me?” he asks before he starts to look you up and down with a smirk. “You missed a good show. We were great. The crowd was really…”

You don’t even care that you’re standing there with hardly any clothes on. He’s seen everything anyway. You’re more worried about getting him out of your room. “Roger, get out!” you yell again, interrupting him, walking over to the bed and pulling on his arm as you try to make him get up.

Only he grabs you and pulls you to the bed and rolls you on to your back as he hovers over you. You try to wrestle out of his grip, but you can’t, not because he’s overpowering you, but because your mind is telling you not to. “You know you don’t want me to leave, Y/N,” he chuckles. He runs a hand down your chest, to your stomach and down your thigh before moving his fingers over your panties and right to your mound. “Oh?” he asks as he feels your wetness that’s soaked through. “Did I interrupt something?”

“Yeah, you did,” you answer matter-of-factly. “So can you please leave?”

“Show me,” he growls. “Show me what I interrupted.”

You scoot back on the bed and lean against the headboard, sliding your panties off, resting your feet in the bed, bending your knees and opening your legs. You look at his eyes as you run your hand down to your flower and start to rub your fingers over your swollen lips. His eyes dart down and he takes a deep breath as he watches you play with yourself. He moves closer to you and starts to reach out his hand, but you slap it away. “I didn’t say you could touch me,” you snip, raising a brow. He stands up from the bed and takes off his shirt, then his shoes and pants, and climbs back on the bed. You watch him watching you and bite your bottom lip. “Let me see how hard you are for me,” you tell him. He slides off his underwear and grabs his cock, stroking it slowly. “Do you want me, Roger?” you snarl.

“You know I fucking want you, Y/N,” he snarls back.

You smirk and call him closer to you with your finger. When he gets close to you, you move your fingers from your wetness and put them up to his mouth, and he opens and takes them in. “Hmm,” you mumble as you take your fingers out and put them back down to play. “I don’t think you want me bad enough.” You bite your lip again, looking deep in his eyes as you rub yourself. Seeing the sheer desperation in his eyes is turning you on even more than knowing he’s sitting here, watching you pleasure yourself as he starts to stroke his cock again. “It’s a shame too,” you whisper as you slowly close your eyes. “Because I’m about to cum, and you have to sit there and watch it happen.”

“What a dirty girl you are,” he whispers. “Let me help you.”

“I will,” you giggle, your eyes still closed and your fingers rubbing even faster than before. “You’re not allowed to cum, though. Not yet.”

He moves his hand away from his cock and leans next to you against the headboard, making sure he can whisper in your ear. “If you only knew how hard I am right now watching you,” he says. “Fuck, Y/N.” His tone was pleading, almost an agonizing pleading that let you know you’re doing everything right.

“Is that why you came here?” you ask. “Because you want me so bad?”

“Every time I see you, I want you, Y/N,” he breathes in your ear.

“You like what you see, Roger?” you tease. “You want to feel your cock inside of me?”

“Jesus, Y/N,” he groans. “I want to feel you cum all over my cock.” You open your eyes and look over at him. “Let me taste you again,” he pleads. You move your hand away and divert your eyes down between your legs before looking back at him. He took the hint and moved in front of you, parting your legs and running his tongue slowly up your slit before reaching your clit. His hand slowly drifts between your legs and he nudges two fingers inside of you. Poking his fingers deeper, he rotates them gently then starts to slowly work them in and out as his tongue slowly makes its way over your wetness, and you start to moan. He can feel the tension building in your body, your muscles straining and your cunt squeezing his fingers. “Is this what you want?” he asks, moving his mouth from your flesh. “Is this what you like?”

You look down at him, but your answer disappears in a gasp as his tongue finds your clit again. You start to wiggle on the bed, and he fights to stay with you. “Cum,” you manage to say with ragged breath. “I’m gonna cum.” Roger curls his fingers inside you, making the come here sign, massaging your G-spot. Your body stiffens, arching off of the bed as an orgasm rips through you. “Fuck,” you grunt, loudly, fighting for air. You stare into his eyes as he thrusts his tongue into your pussy, holding it there as you quiver. He kneels up in front of you, his cock hard and completely erect now. “You gonna give me that?” you ask in a whisper.

“Not yet,” he said. He leans over you, pushing his tongue against yours in a kiss and you taste yourself on his mouth. You try to sit up, but he forces you back down before he backs away. His hand glides over your skin, tickling your side before slipping back between your legs. His fingers enter you again, sinking deep as his thumb finds your clit. You moan loudly as he rams two fingers into you, rubbing your clit hard and fast. You start to squirm, begging him to make you cum again. It didn’t take long. You constrict around his fingers, inhale deeply and cry out. He watches as you cum, a grimace of pleasure and pain on your face. “That’s right,” he urges, “you know you want to cum again.” Your second orgasm fades quickly and your eyes open, seeing him looking at you. You turn and try to bury your face in the rumpled covers of the bed, and he smiles at your sudden shyness. "You’re very pretty when you cum,” Roger whispers.

“Fuck you,” you mumble with a giggle. He lets his fingers slip from you and you groan.

“Not very ladylike, are you?” he asks sarcastically.

“Would you rather I play the damsel in distress?” you sneer.

“Clean them off,” he orders, ignoring your question. Your lips part, taking his fingers into your mouth, swirling your tongue around them. You nibble him gently when you finish, and he pulls his hand away from you.

“Is that all I get to suck?” you ask with a smirk. Without responding, he lowers himself to the bed and lays on his back. You roll over and look into his eyes, wink, and begin sliding down his body, planting kisses as you go. You open your mouth and surprise him, taking the head between your lips. Sucking hard, you flick the tip with your tongue.

“Fuck,” Roger exhales, his hips rising slightly. Your mouth doesn’t leave his cock, instead taking half his length. Even as he fights for his breath, he can hear you inhaling deeply through your nose. Over the next minute, you manage to take him all, letting the head slide into your throat. Suddenly, you pull away, releasing him from your mouth. He tries to grab you back again, but you avoid him and sit back on your haunches.

“Are you gonna fuck me?” you ask as you crawl over him. Wrapping his hand around his shaft, he guides himself to your slick lips. You lower yourself and the head slips inside you. You both gasp as you sink down, enveloping him in the silky walls of your moist pussy. Roger’s hands rise up to cup your breasts as the rest of him fills you. Your head tilts back and you begin shifting your hips back and forth, rocking on top of him. “Oh, God, yes,” you purr. “That feels so good.” He squeezes your nipples and you nearly scream, stiffening atop him. “I need you to fuck me, Roger,” you say. Needing no more encouragement, he rolls you over, his cock leaving as he does. You let out a small cry as his full weight comes down on you.

He pauses a moment and you nod at him. Advancing, he steadily fills you, groaning as he does. Roger pulls back until only the tip remains inside you, then shoves his hips forward, propelling himself into you. You groan and he repeats the action. “Such a dirty, dirty girl,” he grunts.

“Fuck me hard,” you demand, and he does, increasing the force – but not the speed – of his thrusts. Sliding his arms under you, he reaches up and grabs your shoulders, pulling you toward him as he rams his cock deep. You cry out each time he plunges into you, and he watches intently as you face twists in erotic frenzy. “Right there!” you yell out. “Don’t you fucking stop!”

He moves faster, pistoning in and out of you as your fingers claw at the sheets, trying to hold steady as he pounds into you. Your mind is awash in ecstasy, and you tremble beneath him. Roger feels the familiar ache growing in his balls, and knows he can’t last much longer. Opening his mouth, he was about to warn you when you speak first. “I’m gonna cum!” you yell.

The words had barely left your mouth when your pussy clenches and powerful spasms rip through your body. Your body arches into the air, lifting Roger slightly. Your reaction, and the sensation of you wrapped around him, pushes him over the edge. He erupts, shooting his warm load into you, as he groans loudly. He collapses on top of you before laying against your left side. Neither of you speak for several minutes as you breathe deeply, riding out the aftershocks of your orgasms.

“Jesus, you stink,” you say, breaking the silence.

“What?” he says, shocked. “You came, didn’t you?”

You laugh loudly, the sound echoing off the walls. “Three times,” you smile. “What I mean is, you’re all sweaty.”

“Well, I’ve been busy,” he says, defending himself. “Haven’t had the chance for a shower.”

“Mmm hmm,” you mutter, still giggling.

“You remember I had a concert earlier, right?” he asks.

“Yeah, drummer boy, I remember,” you laugh.

“Why don’t we go take that shower?” he suggests.

“Maybe we should wait a couple minutes,” you say. “I don’t think I can walk yet.”

“You don’t exactly smell like a bouquet of roses right now, you know,” he teases.

“Asshole,” you jokingly blurt as you nudge him away from you. His eyes linger on your naked body, and he looks back in your eyes and smiles. “Like what you see?“ you ask, your eyes meeting his.

"Very much,” he says. “You are so beautiful,” he whispers, leaning in close and giving you a soft kiss, your eyes closing so you can feel the entire sensation.

Your eyes open and you start to giggle. “I’m a mess,” you say, rolling your eyes.

“That’s not always a bad thing,” he assures you with a soft smile, “especially right now.”

You prop yourself up on your elbows and gasp with playfulness. “Are you being nice to me right now, Blondie?”

“I can ask the same of you,” he chuckles. “Don’t worry. I can go back to being a right cunt tomorrow.” He leans up and gives you a quick kiss. “Now what about that shower?”

**November 10, 12:30pm – Detroit **When you wake up he’s gone. You didn’t feel or hear him leave, but he’s gone, and you feel like shit – physically and emotionally. But you can’t wallow in any of it. You have to get yourself together. You have a job to do, and since you were pretty worthless at it last night, you need to focus today. Last night when you were wandering around you noticed a park nearby, so you decided to go spend some time there and do some writing after throwing on some clothes and making yourself somewhat presentable.

You see him when you get to the hotel lobby, chatting and smiling with a few girls, as usual. He sees you, looks you straight in the eye and quickly turns his attention back to the girls. You were already upset, but now you’re raging inside. You don’t know if it’s anger or jealousy - probably a mix of both. What you do know is that you feel like an idiot.

“Hey, Y/N!” He calls you, but you ignore him and keep walking. “Hey!” He runs up behind you and grabs your arm. “Y/N…”

You quickly turn around. “What, Roger?”

He starts to chuckle. “I’m sorry for leaving without saying goodbye. You were sleeping so good and I didn’t want to wake you.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay? And?”

His demeanor changes in a flash and he lets go of your arm. “And I wanted to let you know I don’t see you as some two bit whore but never mind,” he snaps.

“That’s why you’re busy making your plans for later?” you snip. “Go on. Go finish talking to them.” When you turn to walk away he grabs your arm again and pulls you back. “What do you even want from me?” you yell.

He lets go of your arm and gives you a longing look. “More.” He clears his throat and you gulp, feeling a bit lightheaded, his words sending a shock through you. “I want more.”


	5. Chapter 5

**November 12, 1978 – somewhere around Cleveland**More. He wants more. What is more? You haven’t found out. The two of you hadn’t had the chance to talk since he told you that two days ago. It was driving you crazy, but you couldn’t focus on that. There was finally peace and quiet on the bus – everyone was sleeping except for you, so you were taking the chance to write. After Boston tomorrow night and Providence the night after, there would be four days in New York – your home base – and Mike, your editor, was expecting the first part of your article to be turned in.

You were so focused on writing that you didn’t notice your company until he started to quietly chuckle as he sat next to you. “Such concentration,” you hear Roger say before looking up at him. “And those glasses? You look like a sexy school teacher.” You roll your eyes and throw your pen at him. “I hope you’re only writing nice things about me in there.”

“So I shouldn’t put this part in about how you’re incredibly annoying and a major pain in my ass?” you ask with a cheeky smile.

“At least put in there that I’m good in bed.”

“Now why would I want to ruin my reputation like that?” you joke. “I’m still hoping to snag Roger Daltrey. It’ll never happen if he knew I let _you_ have me.”

He smirks at your joke and chuffs when he accepts the fact that he can’t come out with a retort to it. “Tell me something about you. Your dreams, your fears. Your likes and dislikes.” He starts to chuckle. “I need to know you more than just intimately.”

“Well, I’m living my dream. I always wanted to be a writer,” you start. “I’m scared of heights and failure. I like sunny days and chocolate cake and I don’t like pineapples and boredom.”

For the next hour, you and Roger sit together on the bus, talking – not arguing. The conversation flowed smoothly, the laughter was immense and often, and you don’t think the smile ever left your face, or his. You don’t know how it went from complete loathing between the two of you to this, but it did; neither of you wanted to question it. It felt… right. It felt like this was how it was all supposed to be. You finally realize may be the “more” that Roger wanted.

“You’re sleepy,” he murmurs with a soft smile, noticing your heavy eyes. “I’ll let you sleep.”

He starts to stand up but you pull him back down. “No!” you whisper loudly. “Stay.” He sits back down and you put your head on his shoulder. He, in turn, wraps his arm around you and holds you close, and you both drift off to sleep.

**November 13, 1978 – Boston, Massachusetts** You and Roger woke up before everyone else, so it was easy to keep your little secret. Confusion was abound, however, when the two of you managed to walk off the bus and into the hotel lobby without arguing about something. “Are you feeling okay?” John asked, somewhat joking. “You haven’t had an argument in two days.” You roll your eyes and giggle before walking into the elevator to go to your room.

For the show tonight, you’re sitting with the rest of the press in front of the stage instead of on the side like you normally do. That’s where you meet Charlie, a reporter for one of the local newspapers. He’s tall, he’s got a nice body, he’s funny, he’s got great hair, and a great voice… basically everything you’ve ever looked for in a one night stand, but you weren’t looking for one.

Keyword: Weren’t.

After the show, Charlie followed you backstage. You introduced him to Freddie, John and Brian and left him to chat when you went look for Roger. You found him. With a girl, of course. It wasn’t any different than any other day, but tonight it stings.

So you invited Charlie back to the hotel for some drinks. And then to your room. But he was so drunk nothing happened. You were relieved, actually, but his snoring is making it impossible for you to sleep. Frustrated, and looking for any reason to leave the room, you throw on a sweatshirt over your tank top, slip on some shoes, grab the room key, and go for a walk. You have no idea where you’re going, but you had to get out of that room.

When you make it to the hotel lobby, you see Roger sitting at the bar alone. “Well this is something I’ve never seen before,” you joke as you sit next to him.

He doesn’t even look at you, instead looking at his drink. “What? He wasn’t good enough so you need me to finish you off?”

“Excuse me?” you say, actually offended.

He turns and glares at you, clearly pissed off. “Then what do you want?”

You stand up from the stool and start to walk away, but quickly turn back around and go back to him. “You have absolutely no right to be angry with me,” you tell him, your voice quite forceful. “No right at all.”

“I’m supposed to be happy I’m your second option?” he asks, his voice equally as forceful as yours.

“You think I’m here for sex?” Now you’re seething. “I saw you here and I came to say hi.” You turn to walk away again but you can’t let this go. “You know, fuck you. You want to talk about a second option? What about me?”

“What about you, Y/N? What?” He stands up and pulls you off to the side, away from the bartender’s ear shot. “You think I…”

“Every night, Roger,” you fuss. “Every night except for three I’ve seen you chatting up some girl. The three nights you didn’t were the nights you were with me.”

“And how many of them do you think I spent the night with?” he dithers. “None. Not a single one. Do you know why?” He grabs the top of your arms and pulls you close as he bends down to get close to your face. “Because I don’t want any of them. I only want _you_.” Your mouth drops open and you’re rendered speechless. He quickly lets go of your arms and walks out of the bar, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and anger.

**November 15, 1978 – New York, New York** The relief you felt as soon as you stepped off the bus was indescribable. Home. You’re home. They have three shows in New York in four days and you get to sleep in your own bed, see your friends, relax and rejuvenate. As soon as you were able, you grabbed your suitcase from the bus and scurried to grab a taxi. “You really are in a rush, aren’t you?” you heard Brian ask from behind you. You turned around and he was standing there chuckling. “I was going find something to eat. Would you like to join me?”

You were hungry, and you’ve taken a huge liking to Brian – as a friend, of course – so, while you were really looking forward to being alone, you caved and nodded your head. “Why don’t you come with me? I just have to drop this off at my place and there’s a great pizza joint right next to my building.” Neither one of you noticed Roger watching and seething as you both climbed into the cab to leave.

No, nothing happened with you and Brian. He didn’t even come up to your apartment when you dropped off your suitcase. You introduced him to the best pizza in Brooklyn, and an hour later he went back to the hotel. You took the rest of the day for yourself. It had been a mentally exhausting 24 hours and you wanted to get away from any and all drama for as long as possible. Roger wasn’t speaking to you, and the tension felt like it was at an all-time high. He was barely even looking at you, and for some reason it was eating you up inside. It was eating him up inside, too.

**November 16, 1978 – Madison Square Garden** “Mike says you’re having the time of your life,” Daisy, a co-worker, says as she tries to stifle a laugh.

You roll your eyes and start to giggle. “I could seriously strangle you and Barry and any of the other critics who ever said anything negative about them,” you tell her. “They’re great, but _fuck_. Roger has been…” Your voice trails off and you sigh. “Let’s just say it’s been interesting.”

The two of you are sitting on the side of the stage as the guys are preparing to do their soundcheck. Freddie, being nosy as he tends to be, is curious about who your friend is, so you introduce them. John and Brian soon come over to meet Daisy, too, but Roger doesn’t. Not that you thought he would, but he did walk by and immediately sat at the drum kit. “He’s not speaking to me either now,” Brian tells you in your ear. “I don’t know why.” He shrugs his shoulders and walks away.

Roger keeps glancing and you, and you at him, and Daisy immediately picks up on it. “So what’s the story here?” she asks. “With you and pretty boy.”

You give her the rundown, about how he completely hated you before you even met because of negative things printed about them in the magazine. “It’s beyond frustrating,” you sigh. “Just when we start to get along, something happens and we start despising each other again.”

“Well,” she starts. “Maybe you shouldn’t have fucked him.” You look at her, mouth completely dropped open, and start to deny, deny, deny – but she stops you. “Don’t even try to tell me that you haven’t.”

You give her a side eyed glare but can’t stop yourself from giggling. “I’m not discussing this with you.”

“They let you bring friends along now?” you hear Roger snip as he takes a drag of his cigarette, not even realizing he had walked over.

“I’m Daisy,” she says as she stands up and holds out her hand. “I write for…”

He doesn’t look at her, only you. “Now there’s two of you?” he asks. “One of you is hard enough to handle.” Daisy stops talking, instead paying attention to the interaction between you and Roger.

“She’s here for the show tonight,” you tell him. “Don’t worry.”

“That’s all I need. It’s bad enough I have you to deal with every night. Now you’ve multiplied and I’m going to stress doubly.”

“That’s a bit dramatic, Roger.” You turn to Daisy and give her a tired look. “See what I mean?”

He bends over and grabs your arm. “We need to talk.”

“No,” you say as you tug your arm away. “We don’t.”

“Will you just fucking…” He’s being loud, but quickly tones it down. “Stop being so difficult.” He gently holds your arm again. In order not to cause yet another scene, you excuse yourself and follow him down the backstage hall and to their dressing room. You walk in, but he stays standing in the doorway.

You stand there in silence, waiting for him to talk for what seems like forever. He walks closer to you and takes your face gently in the palm of his hand. “I’m sorry,” he whispers as he leans in for a kiss. Not a kiss tinged by alcohol. He’s completely sober, as are you, so that’s why your mind is completely blown right now. You grab the waist of his pants, pull him into the room and he kicks the door closed behind him. His breathing is uneven as he looks into your eyes, and they’re burning with a lust that matches yours. Your mouths meld together and his tongue effortlessly glides over yours with satisfying strokes.

“Roger,” you whisper as you stop the kiss. “We can’t… You have to do the soundcheck…” Your voice is somewhat hoarse and he responds by kissing you more. You pull back again, unable to open your eyes for a few seconds and start to talk again.

“Shh,” he whispers, still holding his palm to your cheek. Neither of you even know what to say. That kiss completely melted the both of you. “Why are we like this?” he asks, genuinely wondering why.

His eyes. His fucking eyes are amazing and you wonder how, after all of the glaring and staring you’ve done at them, how you never realized just how perfect they are. “I don’t know,” you whisper back. The door starts to open and you both quickly move away from the door and from each other.

“Come on, Rog!” John yells as he walks in before walking right back out. “You can finish the argument after we’re done.” Roger flashes you a soft, gentle smile before he follows John out, and every inch of your insides flutter.

You walk back out after taking a few minutes to regain your composure and take your seat next to Daisy again. “These guys are hilarious,” she says with a giggle. “They’re so… bitchy.” You just smile and turn your gaze to Roger. He gives you a wink and forces his focus to what he’s supposed to be doing.

After the show, you and Daisy are standing outside, away from prying ears, discussing the show. She hated it. The music was good enough, but she found the performance drab. “I am begging you, _please_, be gentle in the review. I still have another month…”

“I’m sorry, Y/N, but I’m always honest,” she says. “But never mind that, tell me about Roger.” She nudges your arm and gives you a sly smirk. “How many times? Is he good? I bet he’s good.”

You roll your eyes and light a cigarette. “I am here to write a story. My judgment won’t be clouded by a pair of blue eyes.” You take a deep sigh and look out into the parking lot, seeing the crowd has thinned significantly. “I’m heading home. I miss my bed.” You give Daisy a hug, promise to hang out before you leave again, and head back inside to grab your purse.

And, of course, the first thing you see when you walk in is Roger, smiling his toothy smile, surrounded by giggling girls. Only this time, you don’t feel jealous or angered in any way. Not after that kiss. There was something different about it. He doesn’t notice you walk by. Freddie does, though, and he calls your name, blowing your cover. “Where are you sneaking off to?” he asks. “We’re just getting started, darling.”

“I’m going home,” you tell him. “I know. I’m boring. But I have to go to the office in the morning.” You give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “But I’ll be here tomorrow in time for the show.”

As soon as you walk outside, you hear a voice from behind you. “‘A colossal sonic volcano whose eruption maketh the earth tremble,’” he says. “I read it last night.”

“Yeah,” you smirk as you turn around. “Are you surprised, Mr. Taylor?”

“Yeah, I am,” he smiles. You raise a brow and continue to smirk. “Especially considering you wrote that in Dallas. I guess I misjudged you.”

“You did,” you giggle. “But I didn’t misjudge you. I still think you’re a dick.”

He inches closer to you. “Where you off to then?”

“Home,” you tell him before taking a deep breath. “What about you?”

“Well, that depends,” he says, inching even closer and bringing his same hand up to you cheek like he did earlier. “Depends on if I get invited anywhere.” He smiles and you can’t resist it.

**November 17, 1978 – 11am, Brooklyn, New York** “Yes, Mike, I’ll be there,” you groan. “I don’t know why you can’t wait until tomorrow.” Roger’s under the sheet and keeps nibbling on your thigh and you’re trying not to giggle. “No, Mike, there’s nothing going on.” Roger’s now positioned himself in between your legs and is trying to open them, but you’re trying to stop him and start tapping on his head. “I don’t care what Daisy said, nothing’s going on.” Roger’s won the battle, and he’s now starting to tease you with his tongue. You try your hardest to stifle your gasp. “Mike, stop. I’ll be there at 1.” You slam the phone down and start laughing, and you can feel Roger’s chuckle against your core. “You could have just gotten me fired,” you laugh, but enjoying the feeling he’s creating way too much to fuss too much.

“Shhh,” he says, moving away for a moment, throwing the sheet off. “I’m trying to work here.” He laps and sucks on your swollen lips, his tongue moving unhurried over your clit as he hums over your sensitive flesh, making you quiver. You prop yourself up so you can watch him, and you see his eyes looking up at you, leaving you unable to take a breath deep enough to clear the euphoria he is creating right now. An excitement cry escapes your mouth as he starts to suck harder, flicking his tongue over and over until the last drop is sucked out of you. Each muscle in your body tenses as he takes you over the edge and fucks you with his tongue until you cum. He takes one last lick up before looking up at you, quite pleased with himself. “Did I ever tell you how absolutely delicious you are?” he smirks. “I just couldn’t resist.”

You start to giggle and pull him up to you. He gives you a deep kiss when he reaches your mouth, cupping your neck as he kisses you. “If we get caught I can get in a lot of trouble, you know.”

“Hmm,” he mumbles as he kisses your neck. “Then I guess we better keep this our little secret.”

“I’m serious,” you giggle. His kisses are tickling you so you nudge him off, making him lay next to you on his back. “That’s what Mike was calling for.” He looks confused. “His exact words were ‘if I find out you’re fucking around with one of them I’m pulling you out.’”

Roger starts to grin and you can’t hold in your giggle. “Well it’s his own fault for sending someone pretty to us then, isn’t it?” You roll your eyes, but can’t stop giggling. “Hey, our secret. Promise.”

“Wow,” you say after you stop giggling and stare up at the ceiling. “So I’m actually getting paid to be a groupie.” You turn and look at him, keeping a serious face. “I’ve always wanted to be a groupie.”

He starts to laugh. “Yeah, but unfortunately, you’re a groupie for the wrong Roger.”

“That’s okay. I’ll consider this practice for when I get the right one.” You flash him a cheeky smirk before sitting up. “I have to get ready to get to the office before Mark comes and finds me.”

**1:00pm – Midtown Manhattan** You sneak in Mike’s office before anyone can catch you. Candice, the assistant editor, sees you and rushes in, excited to see you. “Soooo, how’s it going? Mike said you were having a little issue with Roger Taylor.” She sits in Mike’s chair, a big smile on her face, eager to hear everything.

“We’ve worked it out, actually,” you inform her. “At least I think we have. He doesn’t hate me anymore, so that’s progress.” As you fill Candice in on everything, Mike walks in and slams the door, startling you.

“Did you get to the part when you started banging the guy or no?” Mike is angry. Seething. You’ve never seen him like this before. He’s always happy around you, jovial, sarcastic… everything but downright angry. “Don’t even open your mouth to tell me that you didn’t. Daisy told me…”

“Daisy?” you yell. “Daisy who is pissed off that I got this gig and she didn’t Daisy? That one? How would she even know?”

Mark calms down, takes a deep breath and sits on his desk, directly in front of you. “Look, Y/N, I just want this to be a fair article. It’s not just your journalistic integrity at stake, it’s the entire magazine.”

You reach down into your bag and hand him your notebook that is stuffed with other papers. “My typewriter broke so most of it is jotted down until I can type it up, but that’s it. That’s what it is so far.” Candice rushes over to sit next to Mike and they start reading what you’ve written. “If you read this and can honestly tell me that it’s written from the point of view of someone who’s fucking the drummer, or all of them plus the road crew, I’ll walk away.” You stand up from your chair and start pacing. “But I’m quite proud of what I’ve got there so far, and I really want to finish this, Mike.” He looks up at you. “You’re the one who sent me.”

He stands up as he hands everything to Candice, who is still reading. “I sent you because of your attitude. I knew if anyone could handle these guys for two months it would be you.” You stare at him, wondering why he seems to be feeling like he’s made a mistake. “We’re the only magazine they’re letting in, and …”

“Mike,” you say as you place a hand on his shoulder. “This is a huge chance you’ve given me. Do you really think I’m going to fuck it up?”

“This is really good, Mike,” Candice pipes up. “You should read it all.” She stands and holds your notebook in her hand, pointing down at it as she walks over to him. “I mean, do you really think she would have written this part about how childish he is if she…”

As you listen to her point out all of the negative things you’ve written about him – not that there was many – you realize exactly what Mike was worried about. If you leave all of that in, Roger will be pissed. If you take it out, you’re not exactly going to be telling the whole story.

“Stay on it,” Mike tells you. “And get a new typewriter because you can’t turn this mess in.” You smile and take the notebook from Candice. “Y/N, I’m serious. If I find out…”

“You won’t find anything out,” you smile.


End file.
